Romances
by Christine Morgan
Summary: Three vignettes involving Angela and Brooklyn, Owen's private life, and Vogel dating Robyn Canmore. #29 in an ongoing saga.


Romances  
Christine Morgan   
christine@sabledrake.com / http://www.christine-morgan.org   


* * *

  
Author's Note: the characters of Gargoyles belong to Disney and are  
used here without their knowledge or consent. Mature readers only!  
This story (or, rather, these three stories) takes place immediately after  
"Lead Me Not ..." 

#29 in an ongoing saga 

* * *

  
PART ONE -- GIRL TALK:   
  
The first snow of the winter cast a spell of silence over  
Manhattan. Its soft whiteness purified the city, and made the ever-  
changing red and green traffic lights glow with the promise of the  
approaching Christmas holiday.  
Overlooking it all was the Aerie Building, and improbably  
balanced atop that on metal struts that looked incapable of holding its  
weight, was the massive stone edifice that was Castle Wyvern.  
"Ye've always liked the snow, haven't ye, lad?"  
"I have," Goliath said, resting his elbows on a parapet and  
gazing out. Great fluffy flakes powdered his dark hair, mantled his  
shoulders.  
"It's so beautiful!" Angela, identically powdered, twirled in a  
slow circle with her arms outstretched. "And so peaceful!"  
"Don't say that!" Brooklyn bugged his eyes in mock alarm.  
"Every time someone says that, next thing you know, we're under  
attack!"  
"I'll see you under attack!" she growled playfully, and pounced  
with a kiss.  
"Hey, attack me like that any time!" he said, grinning.  
"Ye two," Hudson scolded with a smile. "When are ye going  
to settle down and breed us a rookery, that's what I'd like to know!"  
"Uh, well, that's a big step," Brooklyn said, scritching uneasily  
behind his ear.  
"A big step?" Hudson echoed. "'Tis nature, that's all! Ye've  
had yer fun for almost a year now, 'tis time ye were thinking o' our  
clan's future!"  
"Well, things aren't like they were in the old days," Brooklyn  
argued. "You can't expect Angela to fill up a rookery all by herself, and  
without her sisters to help tend the eggs --"  
"Wait a minute," Angela, hands on hips, butted in. "Things  
_aren't_ like they were in the old days! Males take care of young too,  
you know!"  
"Yeah, see, and there's that," Brooklyn said, pointing to her as  
evidence. "She's been reading all those magazines of Fox's, and they've  
put modern ideas in her head!"  
"Not so modern," Goliath chuckled. "Let us not forget Aunt  
Agnes, who is of a much elder generation, yet shares Angela's opinion."  
"Well, what about you and Elisa?" Brooklyn asked. "Isn't it the  
mature generation that breeds?"  
"Mature? That leaves you out forever!" Angela teased.  
"We discussed that the other night," Goliath said sternly. He  
always got gruff when talk turned to him and his wife.  
"He be right about one thing, though," Hudson mused. "Ne'er  
before has there been but one female in the clan."  
"There's Delilah," Angela said. "And all my sisters on Avalon,  
except that they started without me! That was a year ago, so they're  
probably all fat with egg now!"  
"Remember the way time flows on Avalon," Goliath said.  
"Only a few weeks have passed for them since we brought the Guardian  
and the Princess here. Their season doubtless continues, should you  
wish to visit and breed."  
Angela turned questioningly to Brooklyn, who for the last  
couple of sentences had been backing up with an expression that  
seemed torn between dread and panic. He looked desperately around  
for Lex and Broadway to bail him out, but his rookery brothers were  
both absent.  
Lex was at MacBeth's, cleaning up all the damage he'd caused  
a few nights ago under the mistaken impression that the immortal king  
had absconded with Lex's girlfriend Aiden. And Broadway had gone off  
alone with a boot and a bouquet, to mourn the nameless woman he had  
failed to save during that same harum-scarum sequence of events.  
Not that either of them, both dating humans, could have helped  
much in this situation. Brooklyn wondered for the first time if there was  
a downside to having won the informal competition for Angela's  
considerable favors.  
"Uh, I don't think either of us is ready for that kind of  
commitment," he stammered.  
"Ah, but 'twould be good to have hatchlings around again."  
Hudson sighed. "I do be missing young Angus. 'Tis well that he's gone  
off to be with his parents, but I'd grown used to the lad."  
Angela was still fixing Brooklyn with a look. "Not ready for  
commitment? I read about _that_ in those magazines too, mister! You're  
fine when it's all fun and games, but the first mention of marriage or  
kids, you run like a rabbit!"  
"Marriage?!" He tried to turn that horrified bleat into a cough,  
but wasn't quite quick enough. Now he had both her and Goliath giving  
him the evil eye.  
"Ease up," Hudson laughed. "Ye've gone and scared the poor  
lad pale! Look at him, he be practically wash-pink!" He waggled a  
finger at Goliath. "And dinna think that I'm forgetting how ye and yer  
brothers went the very same way when first the subject were broached!"  
Goliath cleared his throat. "Yes, well ..."  
Angela, whose moods could sometimes be as mercurial as the  
wind, giggled and threw her arms around Brooklyn's neck. "Well, I  
don't think I'm ready for eggs yet either! I've got my career to think of!"  
"Career!" Hudson snorted. "What manner o' talk be that? Why,  
my rookery sisters could do battle with barbarians all night and still  
raise up a fine brood o' hatchlings!"  
"Angela is right, though. There were more females then. Not  
only for the tending of the eggs," Goliath added hastily as his daughter  
made ready to complain again, "but for the laying as well. If our clan is  
to flourish, we should consider --"  
"Consider what?" Brooklyn said. "Bringing more females  
here? As whose mates? What, are you going to tell Lex that he has to  
dump Aiden for a gargoyle?"  
"No," Goliath said, but he said it after such a lengthy pause  
that Brooklyn started to get a tad nervous for his brother.  
Angela glanced at Hudson, who immediately held up his  
hands. "Don't ye go giving me that look, lass! I be too old for such  
shenanigans! Here comes Broadway; why don't ye ask him what he  
thinks on the matter?"  
"Ask me what?" Broadway thumped down, and it was only  
then that they saw he was carrying a slender woman. She, like him, was  
clad in trenchcoat and hat, and on her feet were enormous galoshes.  
Brooklyn's smartass remark -- hey, here comes Manhattan's  
answer to Sir Galahad -- died on his lips as he recognized those boots.  
"Who be this, now?" Hudson asked, startled. "Lad, ye know  
the rules about bringing strangers to the castle!"  
As the woman removed her hat, Goliath's face split into a huge  
beaming grin. "She is no stranger, but clan!"  
Broadway chivalrously helped her off with her jacket. She  
stood before them in a backless blue gown, untroubled by the cold, and  
spread her delicate ivory-hued wings.  
"Elektra!" Angela squealed, and almost bowled Brooklyn over  
as she rushed to embrace the new arrival.  
"Angela, my sister!" She seemed a bit taken aback, but  
accepted Angela's delighted hug.  
"By the stars, how like Katherine she is!" Hudson marveled.  
"Here, lass, quit smothering her and let me have a look!"  
Angela stepped back and wiped her eyes, and Hudson came  
forward. Under his close scrutiny, Elektra quailed a bit, but Goliath's  
reassuring nod calmed her. She accepted Hudson's outstretched hands  
with her own slim five-fingered ones.  
"Mentor of my mother," she said softly. "The Magus always  
spoke well of your wisdom and valor. Honored am I to meet you."  
"_That's_ your Cinderella?" Brooklyn socked Broadway  
admiringly in the bicep. "You old dog!"  
"Yeah, isn't she great?" Broadway replied with a completely  
dopey smile. "She's so great!"  
"I knew yer father well, lass," Hudson said. "The prince were a  
friend, and a goodly man. Ye do him no shame, nor yer mother either.  
Welcome to our clan!"  
"Yes, welcome!" Goliath, when it was finally his turn, gave her  
a brief squeeze. "How is it that you've come here? We last saw you at  
Xanadu, a month ago. I have since worried for your safety, and your  
quest."  
"My quest fares not so well," she said. "When I left you and  
Elisa, I returned to Avalon, there to try by the Seeing Stone to know  
whither I should go. The stone remained dark, and yet I knew I must  
needs continue my quest. I came ashore there, in Central Park. Never  
had I imagined, even after hearing the Guardian speak of this great city,  
how vast and splendid it would be! And where, in all of this, wondered  
I, could I find him I sought? I turned to this disguise to the better  
conceal my features."  
"She's the one I met the other night," Broadway explained.  
"Yet," continued Elektra, "I am no closer to finding Jericho,  
and had resolved me to board the skiff and make another voyage. Then  
I met Broadway, and hoped to visit this castle, and the clan."  
"I'm so happy you did!" Angela enthused. She nudged  
Brooklyn. "This red fellow is Brooklyn, a scared rabbit that might  
someday be my mate!"  
"Jericho ..." Goliath sighed heavily. "Demona claims that he  
has been turned against her by Sevarius, but it is surely another of her  
lies."  
"Who is Sevarius?" Elektra asked.  
"An evil man!" Angela said hotly. "He chained me in a cave!"  
"And made clones, of all of us," Brooklyn added.  
"His crimes were many," Goliath said. "But no more. He is  
dead."  
"I promised Elektra she could stay here for a while,"  
Broadway said. "As long as she wants. Is that okay?"  
"Of course it is," Goliath assured him, doing a bit of a double-  
take when he saw the dopey smile Broadway was still wearing. He and  
Hudson exchanged an amused, knowing glance.  
"There's so much to show you, so much to catch up on!"  
Angela took her sister by the arm and led her toward the stairs. "And  
you must tell me simply everything about Avalon! Who mated who, and  
all of that!"  
"You know that I was not often among the clan," Elektra  
demurred. "So little, even, that I did not join them in the season. Yet,  
sister, I will tell you what I can."  
"Ruth took Malachi, didn't she?"  
"Of course."  
"What of Hippolyta? She never liked any of the males!"  
As the gossiping females headed below, Goliath turned to  
Broadway. "You've done well."  
"Yeah. Thanks," Broadway, still gazing after Elektra, might  
have sighed the same response no matter what Goliath had said. I'm  
going to clout you over the head with a flail. Yeah, thanks. Brooklyn  
snickered.  
Angela's voice floated back to them. "Gabriel has _three_?!?"   
  
* *   
  
Elektra wasn't accustomed to being the center of attention, so  
by the time everyone in the castle had gotten to meet her, she almost  
longed for the quiet of home. She'd always felt a bit distant from her  
brothers and sisters, never knowing why until the Magus had discovered  
the prince's journal.  
Distant, yes, and solitary. She'd kept mostly to the tower that  
the Magus called his own, to which he'd withdrawn himself once the  
princess had become pledged as Guardian Tom's wife and love.  
When outsiders visited Avalon, Elektra had not dared show  
herself, for fear Goliath would see her for what she truly was and  
denounce her. Even at the hour of the Magus' death, which she had  
known as surely as she sensed the coming of the dawn, she kept to the  
tower and wept her silent tears for the man who had been as a father,  
teacher, friend, and very nearly as a husband to her.  
In all that time, she had never been overly close to Angela.  
Bright, beautiful Angela, second-hatched. She and Gabriel had been the  
favorites, the ones that set the path for all the others to follow.  
Oh, how Elektra had envied the sisterly closeness that Angela,  
Ruth, Ophelia, and the others had shared. She had always watched,  
hung back, never joined in. Never felt a part of the clan.  
Nothing, therefore, could have prepared her for the warmth of  
her reception here. Angela, with whom she'd scarce passed a handful of  
words as they grew up, was garrulous and all but giddy with excitement  
and affection.  
She'd been nearly as well-received by the rest of the clan.  
Clever Lexington, good-natured Bronx, the cunning human Xanatos  
and his wife Fox (with whom Elektra wanted to feel a kinship, one half-  
breed to another, but in truth Fox scared her nigh to death!), Queen  
Titania's prized grandson Alexander, his personal Guardian ... yes, it  
was quite a mixed clan Goliath had made for himself!  
She understood that the human sorceress Aiden, linked to  
Lexington, was away at school for the week. A pity, for it would have  
been nice to discuss magics with someone much in the way she used to  
with the Magus although Elektra herself lacked any appreciable talent.  
Startling, yes, a startling visit in so many ways. That Goliath  
and Elisa were as mates, yes, this she'd known and been most delighted  
to hear, and hoped in her heart of hearts that they would be blessed with  
a child of their own, that she be no longer the only one of her kind in all  
the world.  
The wonders of the castle and the city went far beyond  
anything she had even dreamt of. She held back tears often as she  
moved from room to room, still after so many centuries sensing the  
presence of the Magus in the old stone walls. The Magus, and one  
other, the prince her father that she had never known.  
And yet, even with all of this, most startling and welcome of  
all was the feeling of inclusion, most especially from Broadway and  
from Angela. When she'd taken her place among them to welcome the  
dawn, she truly felt as if she belonged. That feeling held even when she  
awoke, shedding her skin with the others.  
Now, as night secured its stronghold on the sky and Goliath  
led some of the others in their protective vigil over the city, Angela led  
her to the vast kitchen and opened a thick white door, from which  
poured a cold fog.  
"Let's see ... chocolate chip cookie dough, tin roof sundae, or  
mocha almond fudge?" Angela asked, holding up three small tubs.  
She hadn't been long in this city, but she already knew one  
thing she liked. "Cookie dough, an' it please thee, sister."  
Angela slid the tub over to her, along with a spoon. "Broadway  
likes his ice cream to have crunchy bits in it. He'd normally have a fit if  
he knew we were getting into his secret stash, but for you I think he'll  
forgive it."  
"I'd not want to displease him," she said worriedly.  
"Piffle! Displease him? You'd have to do far more than this!"  
"He is most genial and kind," Elektra agreed.  
"I know." Angela sighed, spooning up some mocha almond  
fudge. "I almost went for him. Almost. It was a tough choice, I can tell  
you!"  
Elektra smiled. "A change indeed, from being one of sixteen to  
the one and only female! With warriors three doubtless vying for your  
every attention!"  
"You should have seen the way they carried on when I  
arrived!" Angela laughed. "It was purely absurd! Each of them trying to  
outdo the other, puffing themselves up like roosters, making muscles ...  
it's funny now, though at the time it was most vexing!"  
"How came you to choose one of them, and not return to mate  
with Gabriel?" Elektra asked, a question that she knew had been on  
Jericho's mind when he approached her and she gave him the ill-timed  
advice that led to him leaving Avalon in the company of his murderous  
mother.  
Angela tapped her spoon thoughtfully against her lip. "I fell in  
love with this new world, so much bigger and grander than anything I'd  
ever known. I wanted to be a part of it. To explore, to see new places,  
and also to make a difference. On Avalon, we did little. But Avalon sent  
us, Father and Elisa and Bronx and I, to dozens of places. And in each  
of those places, we helped someone, or undid some wrongdoing. We  
made a difference in the world. I wanted to keep on with that."  
Elektra nodded. "A goodly wish indeed."  
"As for the boys," Angela grinned. "Well, I was flattered by all  
the strutting, annoying though it was. And none of our brothers were  
anything like these males. They'd known danger and hardship and the  
struggle to survive in a way we never had. It made them more intense,  
more alive. I liked that. Well, and they're all appealing to look upon,  
each in his own way."  
Back on Avalon, quiet and reserved, she never would have  
said what she did now. "Brooklyn ... with his features so like Uriel ... I  
wonder, does the resemblance hold true throughout?"  
"That's what they say about males with large noses!" Angela  
winked. "But how did you know about Uriel? I thought that you had  
never ... well ..." she flushed violet.  
"Not through my own experience," Elektra hastily corrected.  
"Nay, but I didst stumble upon him and Ophelia in a grove near Flower  
Meade one night and have occasion for an eyeful indeed!"  
"Well, between us," Angela leaned close, "it's true!"  
They giggled together, a strange sound in Elektra's ears  
because she had so seldom heard her laugh mingled with another.  
"Oh, I can't begin to tell you how I'd missed the free and easy  
ways of Avalon," Angela said, rummaging through the cupboards for  
something to go with the ice cream. She produced a package of  
cranberry-white-chocolate scones. "But I soon saw that these males  
would place a much higher meaning upon ... well, you know ..."  
"Frolicsome matings?" Elektra suggested.  
"The very same! I couldn't dally with all of them, but had to  
choose one. A pity, really, but it turned out for the best. I was drawn  
first to Brooklyn, of course. Handsome, firey, holding good status as  
second-in-command, and he more than his brothers seemed to know  
desire's flame." She frowned. "I was to find out that he had good  
reason, that he had been introduced to it by Demona."  
Elektra said nothing, but her eyes opened rather wide.  
"This, as I'm sure you understand, disturbed me," Angela  
continued between bites of scone. "I dwelt on it, brooded about it, let it  
bother me until he seemed tainted. I found myself spending more time  
with Broadway, sweet innocent Broadway. But I soon realized that all I  
was doing was talking to him about Brooklyn." She shook her head.  
"Silly me! It took until last Christmas before I realized that Brooklyn  
was the one I really wanted, and by then I was afraid I'd been cool to  
him for too long."  
"Yet it was not so."  
Angela sighed dreamily and propped her chin in her hands.  
"Not so at all! He, the dear thing, wanted so much to please me that he  
even found it in his heart to forgive Demona. Much to her irritation, to  
be sure! But I knew then that he was the one for me. Before then, we'd  
done little more than kiss and play at the sort of wrestling and tickling  
that is nothing more than an excuse to get ahold of one another. I was  
eager for more, and if I was eager, he was ablaze!"   
  
* *   
  
Flashback -- New Year's Eve.   
  
"Four ... three ... two ... one! Happy New Year!"  
The ball touched down amid a riot of lights and noise.  
Elisa, from the comfort of Goliath's embrace, reached over and  
patted Lex's arm. "Thank you for not reprogramming the Times Square  
display this year."  
"Hey, we really thought that's what all the fuss was about," Lex  
said, grinning. "We thought the whole city was turning out for your  
birthday party!"  
"Bah," Hudson said, setting aside his glass firmly. "What's the  
point of making good wine fizzy like soda pop?"  
"Bronx likes it," Brooklyn observed.  
"Look! There's Xanatos!" Broadway pointed at the television.  
"And Fox! Too bad Alex slept through it!"  
Goliath finished his champagne and rose. "Shall we go --"  
"Oh, no!" Brooklyn wailed. "You're not going to make us  
patrol!"  
"I was speaking only to Elisa," he said grandly, offering her a  
hand. "Although, a patrol might not be a bad idea."  
"Give them a night off," Elisa urged. "New York's Finest have  
everything under control. If I don't have to work, why should the rest of  
you? This is the first New Year's I've had off in years!"  
"Then you should make the most of it," Angela said, smiling at  
her father and his human mate. It did make her happy to see them  
together, so very much in love. Sure, she still wished that her mother  
Demona would rejoin the clan, but she didn't harbor any delusions  
about a full reconciliation between her parents.  
As they left, all but oblivious to everyone but each other,  
Aiden popped a blank tape into the VCR. "I don't want to miss the Rose  
Parade," she explained. "We used to watch it every year. Aunt Mary  
would get up early and go out for donuts, and we'd all sit around in our  
pj's and eat donuts all morning, even Mom."  
"Now, that's a holiday!" Broadway remarked.  
"Well, what be the rest of you going to do now?" Hudson  
asked, searching for the remote. Bronx obligingly fetched it for him, its  
black casing dripping with drool and champagne. Hudson grimaced.  
"Go on, ye great slobbery beast!"  
"You took the words right out of my mouth," Angela giggled,  
twisting away from Brooklyn, who was nuzzling the back of her neck  
under her heavy plait of hair.  
"The mad Scrabble marathon continues!" Lex cried, springing  
up. "I'd just gotten about a million points for 'zygomorph.' Want to cede  
the victory now?"  
"I still think you made that up," Broadway grumbled. "But I'm  
not letting you win that easily! Just remember, I want to watch the West  
Coast countdown in a few hours. The show from Vegas is supposed to  
be really good, and they shoot fireworks off the Space Needle in  
Seattle."  
The two of them, plus Aiden, trooped off to where Xanatos'  
gold-plate deluxe edition Scrabble set was surrounded by a litter of pop  
cans, pretzel bags, and wrappers from a jumbo bag of bite-sized Three  
Musketeers morsels.  
Hudson flipped channels until he found a show dedicated to  
entertainment greats, specifically Lawrence Welk.  
Angela and Brooklyn exchanged a look, and stood as one.  
"See you later, Hudson," Brooklyn said.  
Moments later, they were atop the highest tower, with  
Manhattan a shining carpet of jewels laid out below them. Even from  
here, they could hear the music and merriment as the Big Apple  
celebrated.  
"We're on top of the world," Angela said softly, spreading her  
arms as if to embrace the night itself.  
"Angela ..."  
She turned curiously to him.  
His white hair was astir in the bracing wind, his head crowned  
with stars. His skin looked like deep maroon suede in the shadows. She  
remembered how Coldsteel had described him as scrawny. True, he  
wasn't as wide-shouldered as Gabriel, nor as thickly chested, but he was  
far from scrawny. His was the build of a gymnast rather than a  
weightlifter, exceedingly well-toned and pleasing to look upon.  
"You are so beautiful," he said.  
"I was just thinking how handsome you are," she replied.  
"What I said on Christmas Eve ..."  
She smiled warmly at the memory. "You said that you loved  
me!"  
"Yeah," he admitted, looking for all the world as if he  
expected her to slap him for his nerve. "I have for a long time. I know  
you don't feel the same way --"  
"You don't know anything," she said, shutting his mouth with a  
kiss.  
He was startled, but wasted no time pulling her close and  
returning the kiss so hotly that steam seemed to rise all around them.  
His tail found hers and twined around it, and he brought his wings  
forward to enfold her. His hands were at her waist, then with sudden  
daring slid lower and around to cup her bottom.  
She tore her lips from his, gasping. Then, before he could  
mistake her reaction for protest, she fell upon him with a rain of kisses,  
over his face and throat and even nibbling suggestively at the twin  
horns that swept back from his brow.  
"Do you have any idea how much I want you?" he panted.  
"I have a fair idea," Angela murmured. Indeed she did! How  
could she not, when she could feel the solid proof of it pressed snug  
against her belly?  
He grew bolder and bent his beak lower, and there bit through  
the laces that held her tunic closed. The woolen fabric gaped obligingly,  
exposing her curves to his loving gaze and welcome caresses.  
Angela leaned against the parapet, letting her head fall back,  
sighing in pleasure at the thrilling, melting warmth. It had been far too  
long since her flesh had known any touch besides her own.  
She was ready to rip off the remainder of their clothes right  
then and there, but held back, not wanting him to think her similar to  
her mother as a dark seductress. She instead let him proceed at his own  
deliberate and careful pace, closing her eyes to savor the sensations.  
Brooklyn went to his knees before her, stroking her thighs,  
rubbing his head against her hip like a cat marking its territory. In that  
pose, the tiny talons of his wings were of just a height to close gently  
over the tips of her breasts.  
"Oh!" She sank her fingers into his lush white hair, then  
wrapped her hands around his horns as if she held some other portion of  
his anatomy.  
He got her out of her entire garment without rising from his  
knees, and the wind briskly snatched it from his grasp and sent it  
spiraling away over the heart of the city. She didn't care how she would  
explain her absence of clothing to the rest of the clan, didn't worry that  
her discarded tunic might cause some consternation wherever it fetched  
up. No, as Brooklyn coaxed her legs apart and she felt the heat of his  
breath between them, her clothes were the furthest thing from her mind.  
She braced herself against the castle wall and raised a knee  
over his shoulder to give him better access. He trailed kisses like fire  
along her inner thigh. And then, at the first long, slow stroke of his  
tongue where she needed it most, her claws made trenches in the wall  
and it was only by a tremendous effort of will that her impassioned  
shriek did not peal to the heavens.  
He kept on with that until she feared she might faint, then slid  
the hardness of his beak between her thighs so that she was balanced  
upon it like a narrow saddle. His hands steadied her at the hips and  
rocked her gently, while he exerted a firm pressure with his beak.  
This time she could not contain her shriek, and saw the sky lit  
briefly ruby by the climactic pulse of her eyes. Nor could she keep her  
balance in her one trembling leg. He lowered her to the cool stones and  
looked at her with such earnest wanting-to-please that she could have  
wept.  
Rather than weep, she pulled his head to hers and kissed him,  
tasting herself on his lips. And then she made him stand against the wall  
as she had done, and took her place in front of him.  
Realizing what she meant to do, Brooklyn's breath quickened,  
pluming in the wintery air. His belt came undone almost on its own, and  
his loincloth dropped at his feet.  
Angela purred throatily and began touching him in light,  
fluttery caresses, making him groan, delighting in how his member leapt  
eagerly beneath her fingers. She closed both hands around the base of  
it, brought her wings around so that her wing-talons could clasp it as  
well, and took as much into her mouth as she could manage.  
At first she bobbed her head in leisurely rhythm, then, as his  
breathing grew increasingly rapid and ragged, increased her pace until it  
was nearly frantic.  
"Wait, Angela, I'm going to --" he gasped.  
She paused long enough to give him a reassuring smile. "I  
know. I want you to."  
He uttered a strangled moan that turned into a convulsive howl  
as she drew him in as deeply as she could. She rolled her tongue around  
his shaft, feeling him begin to shake, his body tensing. He spent in a  
copious flood, and when she had partaken of every drop, Angela gave  
him a final tender kiss and released him.  
Brooklyn, weak and shaking, slid down the wall and sprawled  
on the stones. Angela curled up beside him and pillowed her head on  
his chest, sighing contentedly, smug as a cat.  
"Now, that," he said, stroking the sleek curve of her bare back,  
"is the way to ring in the New Year!"   
  
* *   
  
The Present --   
  
Owen burst from the kitchen insuch a hurry that he nearly ran  
smack into his boss. A ripple of feminine laughter trailed after him,  
mingled with the sound of ice in a blender.  
David Xanatos came within an inch of using his formidable  
martial arts skills to flip Owen headlong into the wall, but stopped  
himself in time. "Good evening, Owen."  
"Good evening, Mr. Xanatos."  
"Midnight snack?"  
"No, sir," Owen said. "Warm milk for Alexander. He woke  
from a nightmare."  
"Oh? Anything serious?"  
"Hephalumphs and woozles," he answered matter-of-factly.  
Another spate of giggles turned Xanatos' attention to the door.  
"What is going on in there?" He started forward.  
Owen blocked his way. "I wouldn't, Mr. Xanatos. It appears to  
be some sort of female bonding ritual."  
Xanatos raised an eyebrow. "Girl talk, hmm?"  
"Evidently, it involves caloric excess and explicit  
conversation." Owen shook his head in slight disapproval. "They've  
already gone through all of the ice cream, a package of scones, a pan of  
brownies, and half a jar of peanut butter. They're also on their third  
pitcher of daquiris. When I walked in, they were doing the macarena."  
"You'd better be kidding."  
One corner of his mouth quirked. "About the last, yes. But  
Angela did pinch me." One hand stole protectively to the seat of his  
pants before Xanatos had to ask where.  
"I hope I'm not going to be hit with a sexual harrassment  
lawsuit over this."  
Owen gave him a look that suggested he was not in the least  
amused. "No."  
"Good. Here, I'll take this to Alex. In fact, if you'd like to leave  
tonight for the Academy, that would be fine. Since Aiden drove down  
and back with Birdie, you didn't get to visit your family over  
Thanksgiving."  
"Ours is hardly a traditional arrangement, sir."  
"Go on, take a couple of days off. I insist." He divested Owen  
of the cup of milk.  
"Very well." As he started down the hall, he heard Xanatos  
chuckle.  
"Owen? You might want to change clothes first. There's a  
peanut butter clawprint on your --"  
Owen fled as fast as his rumpled dignity would allow.   
  
* *   
  
PART TWO -- FAIRY FAVOURS:   
  
He drove surely through the snow, classical music issuing from  
the car's speakers and warm air issuing from the vents.  
As he passed through the wards surrounding the Sterling  
Academy, he felt the faint tingle of magic and nodded approvingly.  
Aiden's studies were progressing nicely, although her confidence had  
suffered a blow during her recent encounter with Demona.  
The campus was still and silent under a mantle of white. A few  
windows were lit, and snowflakes whirled against the pathway lights  
like shaker globes. Finals were approaching, and all was relatively  
peaceful.  
Owen pulled into the garage and sat for a moment in the  
darkness, listening to the tick of the engine.  
Still no sense of homecoming. Still, in a way, an intruder here.  
He got out of the car and took his small suitcase from the  
trunk. Moments later, he was ascending in the elevator, past the  
administration offices to the top floor. All was dark and quiet. He let  
himself in and made his way across the spacious living room without  
turning on a light. Enough came through the curtained windows to let  
him navigate around the familiar furniture.  
The apartment, like her office, reflected Cordelia St. John's  
cool and severe personality. Everything was clean, everything was  
orderly. Pristine white rug edged in pale blue that matched the  
uphostery. Glass-topped coffee table resting upon curved marble legs.  
How long, he wondered with a vague smile, was it going to  
last now that Patricia was crawling and starting to pull herself upright?  
How long until the toys began creeping outward in an asteroid belt from  
her playroom? Juice on the rug. Protective pads on the corners of the  
table. He knew all too well what a mess one small child could make.  
Not for the first time, he wondered how Cordelia would take it.  
Thus far, she'd handled the disruption of her structured life fairly well,  
but the fun was only beginning!  
At the end of the short hall were three doors. Owen  
approached one and peered in, his face bathed in the gentle golden glow  
of the night light. He eased the door open and went in.  
A Noah's Ark mobile twisted and turned over the crib where  
his daughter lay sleeping. She lacked only the angelic wings to be the  
very image of a cherub. Her hair was the fine shade of white-blond only  
found in children, and already curled in a halo around her head.  
Rosebud mouth, a dimple in one cheek, long lashes. She slept in fuzzy  
yellow jammies with bumblebees embroidered on the front, and her  
beloved stuffed lambie was at her side.  
Xanatos frequently urged Owen to bring Cordelia and Patricia  
to live in the castle. While he did wish he could spend more time with  
them, Cordelia would not abandon her position as headmistress of the  
Sterling Academy. And, he suspected, part of what made their  
relationship work was that they only saw each other a few times a  
month.  
He tried to imagine Fox and Cordelia living under the same  
roof. Just that, without even considering a bunch of gargoyles thrown  
in, was enough to make a brave man grow pale. Furthermore, there was  
the small matter of his secret. He wouldn't be able to properly serve as  
Alexander's teacher and protector while also trying to keep the truth  
from Cordelia.  
Someday, she would need to know. He wasn't looking forward  
to that.  
He gazed down at Patricia. Never a Patty or Patti or Pat. By no  
means a Patsy! Maybe, if she put her foot down hard enough as a  
teenager, a Tricia or even a Trish.  
The poor child faced an uncertain future, between her aloof  
mother and oft-absent father. Not to mention being already betrothed,  
archaic custom though it was, to young Alexander. Perhaps she would  
be better off living in the castle, where she would have more attention.  
Cordelia might not object. Cordelia's uncle, the Grandmaster,  
might.  
Owen cast all those thoughts aside. There would be time  
enough for that later. He bent to kiss the child's soft cheek, and drew a  
blanket over her.  
"Sleep well, little one."  
Enough light followed him into the next room to shine eerily in  
Cashmere's eyes. The white cat watched him as he set his suitcase in a  
chair.  
He met the cat's ice-blue gaze.  
Few living things could stare down Owen Burnett. This cat,  
however, was among that minority.   
Only when Owen looked away did Cashmere rise from her  
spot on the windowseat, stretch in that leisurely cat-fashion, and leap  
lightly to the floor. She sauntered past Owen without a look, tail held  
disdainfully high.  
Always kind to animals, Puck had boasted to Oberon. Puck  
had, at the time, not met this particular one.  
He closed the door behind Cashmere, leaving it only barely  
ajar. He crossed to the bedside and stood looking down, this time not on  
his daughter but on her mother.  
"What captive star doth lend its light," he whispered, taking up  
a handful of her silken platinum hair, "to crown with its beauty the  
queen of night?"  
Even after all this time, Aiden's spell still packed a wallop. It  
had unearthed well-buried attraction and not only brought it to the  
surface but raised it towering to the heavens.  
The bed rustled as Cordelia stirred. She made an interrogative  
noise from the depths of her goosedown pillow.  
"Just me." He undressed and slipped into bed beside her.  
White satin sheets embraced him. The comforter settled over  
him as heavy and warm as sleep itself.  
He leaned over and brushed a soft kiss on Cordelia's mouth.  
Like a princess in a story, her eyes slowly opened.  
"Owen? Morning?"  
"Not yet."  
She shifted closer, kissed his bare shoulder. "Thought you had  
to work."  
"Mr. Xanatos gave me a few days off." He drew her into his  
arms, only the sheer linen of her nightgown between them.  
He meant only to hold her as they drifted off, but the feel of  
her body against his wakened his desire. She lifted her lips to his for a  
sweet, lingering kiss.  
Her nightgown seemed almost to dissolve beneath his touch.  
With many languid caresses and loving murmurs, they fell easily into  
the rhythm that pleased them both the best. Soon their hearts had  
become lost in the same beat, their breaths mingled as one.  
They finished nestled together like spoons, his head resting  
amid the cloud of her hair, his arm around her waist.  
  
* *   
  
Owen woke.  
From a deep and dreamless sleep, he was thrust into full, alert  
wakefulness.  
He listened intently for a repeat of any sound that might have  
roused him. Nothing. Nor had he been wakened by Cordelia, because  
she slept on undisturbed in the cradle of his arms.  
For several seconds, he lay watchful in the darkness,  
wondering.  
He cast his thoughts outward, seeking Alexander in case the  
boy was in danger. He sensed nothing out of the ordinary.  
What, then?  
Cashmere exploded into the room, sprang stiff-legged onto the  
bed, sprang down just as fast, raced in a circle, and leapt fully six feet to  
hang from the curtains. Her white fur bristled, her eyes were huge disks.  
Owen sat up, and the sudden movement startled the cat into  
another display of feline lunacy. Cashmere jerked her whole body and  
pulled her claws free of the curtain, dropped onto all fours, bounded  
three times in the air, and sped back out the door.  
Cordelia rolled onto her back and pulled the covers up to her  
chin.  
Something's coming.  
The thought carried no immediate threat, but was enough to  
get him out of bed. Rather than waste time dressing, he found the spare  
pajamas he kept in the one drawer alloted to him, and pulled on the  
pants.  
He could hear the cat tearing around the living room,  
miraculously not breaking any of the paper-thin vases or Cordelia's  
cherished Lalique.  
Earthquake? he wondered. Animals were supposed to be able  
to anticipate ...  
Something's coming.  
Something's ... here.  
Owen heard what no normal man should be able to hear, a  
high trill of music like a series of glass chimes. It brought a plague of  
goosebumps over his skin, not particularly of fear but of recognition  
and surprise.  
Fear came next, when he realized it was coming from the  
baby's room.  
He was in the nursery without fully knowing how he got there.  
The Noah's Ark mobile, lions and tigers and bears oh my!, was  
in motion, around and around, two by two. Flitting in and out amid the  
strings in a complex pattern was a radiant sphere, twinkling with sparks  
of pale pink and green.  
At the center of the sphere was a figure, all of four inches in  
height.  
"How now, spirit! whither wander you?" Owen said.  
The sphere blipped upward a bit, and the trill of music went  
ting! in surprise. It then whizzed straight for him. He could see clearly  
now, the tiny female form with flowing sleeves and wings that beat as  
fast as a hummingbird's.  
She stopped in front of his nose and peered closely into one of  
his eyes. She tapped on the lens of his glasses and admired her  
reflection in it. Then she rocked back and forth, clutching her little  
knees, and laughed with the sound of dewdrops running down a  
spiderweb.  
"Can it be true?" she cried merrily. "Is this where I find the  
shrewd and knavish called Robin Goodfellow? Are you hiding in there,  
in that great and clumsy mortal shell? Had my lady queen not told me, I  
never would have guessed!"  
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.  
"It doesn't suit you at all! To think, how the mighty have  
fallen! From our lord and master Oberon's chosen servant, to this! The  
lapdog lackey of a lowly mortal? Hee!" She slapped the end of his nose,  
though the flick of a bee's wing might have had more effect. "Come,  
show yourself, Puck!"  
"I cannot." He waved her irritably away from his face and  
asked again, "What are you doing here?"  
"That mortal breath is as a hurricane, and smells of sour sleep  
besides!" She landed on the crib railing and danced prettily back and  
forth, a miniature ballerina with airy wings. "I have ever preferred the  
children, with breath of warm milk! This one is most fair, is she not?"  
"Oberon has forbidden the stealing of children," Owen said  
tightly. "Least of all this one, for she is my own!"  
"Yours?!" She clapped her hands delightedly. "Then it would  
not be stealing, for she is one of ours! And should Gather, even if you  
do not!" She hopped down into the crib.  
Owen supressed a smile as the fairy emitted an ultrasonic  
shriek and flew out of there so fast she nearly pasted herself to the  
ceiling. In the other room, Cashmere yowled unhappily.  
"Iron!" she gasped.  
"Have you forgotten how the wise human queen used a similar  
ruse to expose Titania when she sought to seduce the prince? An iron  
ball beneath the mattress. Black and blue she was, for weeks! That tale  
lives on, you know, though somewhat changed by the centuries."  
"How could you?"  
"This form of mine is human, as is the child. Iron holds no real  
threat to us. I did not want her to fall victim to the malice of my loving  
relatives."  
"Who would take from the Puck what is his? You still hold  
favor on Avalon, despite your defiance of Lord Oberon. Oh, what were  
you thinking? How can you prefer this --" she gestured around the  
room, then up and down his body, "-- to the splendor of our home?"  
"I came to enjoy the company of humans," he said with a  
shrug.  
"And now, exiled! Forbidden Avalon! What horror! What  
woe!" She shuddered.  
"Horror? Woe? The endless bragging of has-been gods, the  
bickering, the backstabbing?"  
She brushed off his arguments. "Will you not come and play  
with me for a while? I have missed your wit, cousin!"  
"No, Gossamer, I cannot."  
"So you do remember how I am called! I thought you had  
forgotten, or had some other purpose in omitting my name when you  
related the tale of our lord and his queen to the human they call Bard.  
Oh, do not look so shocked! Did you think Milkweed and I would not  
recognize our own words? Two Fairies, indeed! When Mustardseed and  
Peaseblossom and others of the queen's company were named! All but  
Milkweed and I! But I have forgiven, Puck! I have forgiven! So come,  
and play!"  
He closed his eyes against the yearning that filled him,  
yearning to shed Owen's cumbersome form. "I am forbidden, except  
when teaching or protecting the boy Alexander."  
"Since when has what is forbidden ever put pause to the  
Puck?" she wheedled.  
She shimmered, and then was four feet tall instead of four  
inches. Long of limb, slender of waist, her ears and mothlike antennae  
peeking pertly from the windblown tumble of her shoulder-length  
greenish hair ... yes, she was a sight to behold. Her gauzy wings fanned,  
seeming to make images of flowers in bloom.  
"No, Gossamer," he said, drawing upon all of Owen's  
sternness. "In this, I must obey Lord Oberon."  
She dipped briefly toward the floor, disappointed. But it didn't  
last long and she bobbed back up with an impish smile. "Very well! I  
shall go then, and turn the boy into a toadstool!"  
"You wouldn't!"  
"We shall see if you will show yourself to me then!" She  
dwindled to a twinkle.  
"No! Wait!"  
She expanded again and set her hands on her hips. "I'm  
waiting."  
Owen sighed and removed his glasses. "I do this only to  
protect the boy from her mischief," he announced to the room at large.  
He turned in a circle, faster, faster, blurred and spun, and then felt the  
freedom as gravity loosed its hold on him.  
"That is so much better!" Gossamer chirped brightly. They  
were nearly of a size now, and she twirled around him in acrobatic  
joyful welcome.  
"Unfair of you," he chided once they'd settled to a hover.  
"And rude of you," she shot back, tsking. "To make me  
threaten the Queen's own favorite grandson, all so that I could give you  
the gift _she_ bade me bring!"  
"What gift?" Puck's eyes narrowed suspiciously.  
"I am to tell you she regrets her haste in your last dealing," she  
said, taking a packet of spidersilk cloth from somewhere in her garment.  
"And for her to make amends, this!"  
He backed away from her. "Some trick of Titania's? What  
have you there, lady's veil to bind me?"  
"Not quite. See here! Seeds of the lady's veil! She bids you  
replant them, and tend them."  
The seeds, small and green-veined white, did not exert any  
power or lure over him. He accepted the packet, rather dubiously, and  
folded it closed. "I will do Titania's bidding."  
"And you'll save a flower for me, for my trouble?"  
"I've born news and gifts often enough to know the  
thanklessness of being the messenger. Fear not, sweet cousin, I will  
remember you."  
"I'll make sure that you do, handsome Puck," she crooned, a  
glimmer of ivory light beginning to form over her head.  
"Gossamer ..." he protested.  
She stroked the light with her antennae, making it swirl with  
pink and green. "How now, merry wanderer of the night! Those many  
long and lonely years, as I went from the bottom of one garden to the  
next or danced in the teacups of children, I thought of you."  
He couldn't stop looking at the light above her, until he  
realized with alarm that a similar glow of whitish gold was starting to  
shape the air over his head. "Gossamer, stop it."  
"When the time came for us to be summoned home, my heart  
sang at the thought of seeing you again. I imagined it would be as in  
days of old, you faithfully serving Lord Oberon, I among Titania's train,  
and what fun and jolliment we might get up to! I winged my way to  
Avalon, and you did not."  
"I had other obligations," Puck said, trying to get himself  
under control.  
"Obligations! You made Lord Oberon himself seek you out!  
How I feared for you! And then he returned, not, as the Sisters hoped,  
bringing you in bonds of shame, but to announce that he had banished  
you! It was only from overhearing Titania boasting that I learned what  
had become of you!" Her light was roiling now, in agitation. That made  
it easier to ignore.  
"I _chose_ to stay," Puck pointed out, aggravated but not  
surprised by Oberon's pride.  
Gossamer passed her hands over her large eyes, then smiled at  
him. Her light pattern smoothed out, became more hypnotic. "Let us put  
that behind us. I've waited long and long for this." Tendrils of pink and  
pale green began reaching toward his light.  
Puck made himself look away, and his gaze fell upon baby  
Patricia. He saw with a start that she was awake, goggling delightedly at  
the glowing colors.  
"The child sees us!" he said.  
Gossamer laughed. "Since when has the Puck become  
prudish?"  
He felt the first touch of her light on his, and recoiled. The  
sight of Patricia reminded him of Cordelia, asleep just across the hall.  
"Gossamer, I can't."  
"The size of your light says otherwise!"  
"No ... I'm ... well, Owen is ..."  
"What? Married?"  
Her mirth trilled to the ceiling, eliciting another yowl from the  
cat. If nothing else, that would soon wake Cordelia. He'd tried to think  
of ways to reveal his secret, but somehow he knew that having her catch  
him mingling auras with another female was perhaps not the best way to  
go.  
"Married!" Gossamer chortled. "The fancy-free Puck?"  
"Not me! Nor Owen, exactly ..." it was too complex to explain,  
and she was still caressing his light with her colors, making it next to  
impossible to think clearly.  
"In love, then? Has your prank at Oberon's behest at last come  
full circle, your eyes anointed with the juice of that herb by which you  
made Titania enamoured of an ass?"  
"Be it masked mortal or Oberon himself, either way 'twas an  
ass," he said sourly.  
She ignored that remark and laughed again. "Do you recall our  
lord's passion for the human Hippolyta? The bouncing Amazon, his  
buskin'd mistress? And now among the gargoyles is a warrioress of just  
such a name, giving my queen much cause for teasing her husband! But  
pray tell, clever sprite, do you love?"  
"Owen was struck by Cupid's arrow, true," he admitted. "I  
would not have him betray that love."  
"Such fidelity is admirable, impressive, and altogether silly,"  
she said, and exhaled a smoky opalescent stream that briefly enveloped  
his light. "How can the love of a mortal compare to this?"  
Oh, she was coming on strong, the little minx, and he was  
weakening fast. It had been a long time, a very long time.  
When Aiden's spell had stricken Owen and Cordelia, Puck had  
elected (as if he could have altered it, what with Hecate's Wand and all)  
to go along for the ride. He'd been, as he'd confessed to Xanatos, rather  
curious what all the fuss was about.  
Not so strange a curiosity. While many of the Third Race did  
not care for the messy biological joinings that beasts and mortals  
enjoyed, many others enjoyed it frequently. Lusty Zeus, for instance,  
would pursue nigh anything with a pleasing female shape. Even Oberon  
had been known to favor a more physical relationship with his queen  
and his occasional mortal mistresses.  
And so, the Puck had observed first-hand. It had been quite a  
surprise, completely different, yet amazing. He'd grown quite fond of  
the act, in truth. Made him feel a bit foolish for having lived so long as  
Owen -- almost twenty-five years! -- without having tried it before!  
Such thoughts, though, were not helping his current  
predicament. Quite the contrary, because memories of what Owen and  
Cordelia had only recently shared caused Puck's light to intensify.  
Gossamer smiled in satisfaction. "Better! What harm, a little  
frolic?"  
Weak, weaker, weakest. What harm, as she said? What harm?  
With the last of his will, he managed to say, "Not here, not in  
front of the child."   
  
* *   
  
Owen let himself in, damp and shivering.  
What a night! In the same short span of hours, he'd been  
goosed by a gargoyle, made love with a human, and dallied with a fairy.  
It occurred to him to wonder if Preston Vogel, the original  
model for his life, had similar problems. He laughed softly to himself.  
Probably not.  
He was halfway across the living room when he glanced up  
and saw a spectral form, ghost-white in the shadows. He started, banged  
his knee painfully on the corner of the glass-topped coffee table (no  
baby bumpers), and stifled an exclamation.  
"Don't you think it's time you told me?" Cordelia said softly,  
her linen gown flowing from her milky shoulders, her hair floating and  
almost luminous.  
No anger in her voice, no jealousy.  
And no guilt in his heart, after one initial flash. He lived two  
lives, and up until now she had only bee a part of one.  
"It is past time I told you," he said, reaching out. "Give me  
your hands, if we be friends ..."   
  
* *   
  
PART THREE -- FIRST DATE:  
  
"Hello, Canmore residence." Brisk, efficient, neutral.  
"Am I speaking to Robyn Canmore?"  
"Yes." Impatient, expecting a sales pitch or a reporter eager to  
open old wounds.  
"This is Preston Vogel. We met at the wedding --"  
"Yes!" Warmer now, inviting.  
"I was wondering, Ms. Canmore, if you'd like to join me for  
dinner tomorrow night?"  
* *  
"I'll be fine, Preston," Halcyon Renard said. "Mrs. Hillman  
will be here if I need anything."  
"If you'd rather I stayed, sir ..."  
"Nonsense! I'm well aware of how you've neglected your  
personal life on my behalf, and I'll have no more of it. You're what,  
forty-five?"  
"Yes, sir." He fidgeted uncomfortably with his tie.  
"Well, even I was married by the time I was your age."  
"It's only a date, Mr. Renard."  
The older man's laugh turned into a wheezing, rattling cough,  
but he waved away Vogel's attempt to help. He bent forward in his  
motorized chair, so far that the ridge of spine stood out sharply on his  
narrow back, until the series passed.  
"I wish you'd let me send for Doctor Ngyuen," Vogel fretted.  
"I'm past doctors." Renard looked up at him with no fear, only  
an acknowledgement of the truth. "I'm an old man, a sick man. I'm not  
meant to be here forever."  
"You'll outlive us all, I'm sure." But he wasn't. Not sure at all.  
Not sure that Renard would still be among the living when he returned.  
"Still, I shouldn't leave you."  
Renard's eyes went piercing. "If you're trying to get out of this  
date, don't hide it by being overly concerned for me!"  
"No, sir, not at all!" He was shocked, mostly that Renard had  
seen through him so clearly.  
"You're like a son to me, Preston. You know that, don't you?  
My wife left me, my daughter constantly defied me, but you've stayed  
by my side." He held up a withered hand to forestall Vogel's words. "I  
know what you're going to say, you're going to bring up that betrayal  
incident again. Don't. You only faltered, not fell. That one  
misjudgement can in no way detract from your years of loyal service."  
"Thank you, sir."  
"Now, go. Don't keep your young lady waiting. My regards to  
her and her brother."  
Vogel picked up the bouquet of tea roses and lacy ferns.  
"Should I have gotten her a box of chocolates, too?" he wondered.  
Renard smiled. "Flowers and candy, on the first date? You run  
the risk of overwhelming the poor thing! Women today, I understand,  
are accustomed to a more casual treatment."  
"I don't think I can manage, then," Vogel said glumly. "I'll be  
back early, Mr. Renard."  
"Dear boy, I hope not," he chuckled indulgently. "I hope not!"   
  
* *   
  
"You look beautiful," Jason Canmore told his sister.  
She did. Robyn's rich golden hair was caught up in back with a  
ribbon, and fell in waves to her shoulders. Her soft and clingy knit wool  
dress was a vibrant amethyst shade. She applied a final touch of  
lipstick.  
"I don't like leaving you alone. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if --"  
"If what? If your crippled older brother tagged along?" Jason  
shook his head. "No. You deserve some time to yourself. You're more  
of a prisoner here than you would have been if you'd been convicted. I  
want you to go out and have a great evening. And if he asks you to stay  
for breakfast --"  
"Jason!" She threatened him with her eyeliner pencil, and he  
left the sentence unfinished.   
  
* *   
  
"That's fascinating," Vogel said earnestly as she concluded her  
tale of demons and hunters and traditions passed down for generations.  
"How did your family manage to keep the belief alive for so long?"  
"It's all we heard, practically from the day we were born. By  
the time we were old enough to question it, questioning it was out of the  
question. Not every Hunter faced the Demon, not every Hunter died at  
her hands. But enough of them had, and left detailed accounts, to make  
it an undeniable truth."  
"And your father ...?"  
"The Demon killed him," she confirmed with a sorrowful sigh.  
"Our mother had died when Jon was just a baby and I was three, so Dad  
was all we had. He and Jason were especially close."  
"How fortunate you are, to have such a sense of family and  
history," he said enviously.  
"Do you think so?" she asked doubtfully.  
"You know who you are, you come from a long line of  
purposeful, driven people."  
"I come from a long line of vengeance-minded bloodthirsty  
lunatics," she said.  
"But you know who you _are_," he stressed. "Your roots are  
firmly anchored in a long past. I grew up in an orphanage in Prague,  
with nothing of my mother but an old photograph, and nothing of my  
father at all. Not even his name. Vogel was my mother's name."  
"I'm so sorry," she said, reaching past the basket of bread to  
lightly touch his hand. "We were lucky to have Dad. I can't imagine  
growing up alone."  
"Not alone," he corrected. "There were other children in the  
orphanage, many of them. Even among them, I was an outsider. It  
wasn't until I went to work for Mr. Renard that I first felt I belonged  
somewhere. His field was science, devoted to making the future. It  
seemed so much more practical than dwelling on the past. I watched  
him build Cyberbiotics from a tiny business into a huge company. I  
watched his family fall apart around him, which only made me more  
sure that people couldn't be relied upon. Machines could. Computers,  
robotics, they did only what they were programmed to do. They didn't  
feel, didn't care. It seemed a better way to live."  
"It might have seemed that way, but it isn't," Robyn said.  
"I know that now." She was still touching his hand, so he  
clasped hers and they smiled at each other in the candlelight.   
  
* *   
  
"Good evening, Mr. Chiselman."  
"Good evening, Maurice."  
"Your usual table, sir?"  
"Please. I'm expecting a young lady, if you'd be so kind as to  
show her over when she arrives?"  
"Assuredly."  
The blond man with the neat moustache and the proper British  
accent was almost to his table when he happened to look into a pair of  
eyes the exact shade as his own, eyes that were widened in recognition.  
"The problem with family," the owner of those eyes said to her  
companion, "is that it never frees you from responsibility, obligation."  
She rose.  
He looked at her evenly, willing his face to show no reaction.  
"Robyn," he said coolly.  
"Jon."  
A tense, heavy silence fell between them. Jon was aware of her  
companion, a black-haired stuffed shirt nearly twice her age, turning to  
watch with a troubled expression.  
It was broken by Brianna's arrival. The girl, for girl she was,  
barely more than sixteen and toothsome as a spring morning, appeared  
behind Maurice.  
"Am I late?" she asked breathlessly. "I couldn't get a cab!"  
Robyn shifted her gaze to her, slowly taking her in. Fresh,  
innocent, hopeful features bespoke a small-town girl with big-city  
dreams. The diamond earrings and fur coat marked her as a wealthy  
man's mistress or plaything. And the swell of her belly ...  
At that, Robyn's gaze came accusingly to rest on her younger  
brother. Jon smiled coldly. Together, they mouthed the litany that their  
father had ingrained into them from the time they were old enough to  
speak.  
"No," she said when they were done.  
"Yes," Jon replied smoothly. "What Jason put off until it was  
too late, what should have been his duty as eldest. What you never did.  
Responsibility, you said. Obligation, you said. You've some nerve,  
speaking of such things. You, who gave up the cause, turned your back  
on a thousand years of heritage!"  
Maurice, Brianna, and Robyn's mannequin date were only  
staring back and forth in varying degrees of confusion.  
His sister, once idolized and adored, took a deep breath. "I'm  
going to call the police, Jon. I'm going to tell them everything. You  
made our family's quest into a circus of mobs and crazies, so don't talk  
to me about heritage! You'll have your trial, just as I did!"  
"If it's a boy, we're going to name him Bryce, after  
Grandfather," Jon said as if he hadn't heard. "What, no congratulations?  
No well-wishes?"  
Robyn clenched her fists, and for a moment he thought she  
might actually do it, might actually follow through with her threat. But  
she was no more eager than he to see the family name dragged through  
the slime again, and surely she knew that his trial would cast her in an  
evil light. He'd see to that. Her, and Jason as well.  
She spun away from Jon, to the black-haired man who had by  
now moved to stand by her. "Could we go somewhere else, Preston?  
Something's spoiled my appetite."   
  
* *   
  
"Do you want the rest of my fries?" she asked.  
He declined. "I must admit, I never quite pictured this."  
"What, the fast food or being parked at the Lookout?"  
"Either." He glanced out his slightly fogged window at the  
other cars. "I didn't think places like this even existed anymore."  
Robyn smiled. "Too bad the drive-in closed!"  
He finished his burger and dabbed fastidiously at his lips with  
a paper napkin. "What would we see, a double feature of grainy black  
and white monster flicks?"  
"Why not?"  
"Next thing you know, I'll be giving you my class ring."  
She unaccountably blushed, and busied herself rummaging in  
the take-out bags, for a moment looking like a high school girl.  
He'd forgotten that she was so many years his junior. Her life  
as a Hunter had made her seem older. But, he realized in a sudden flash  
of insight, that selfsame life had not given her any time for herself, to  
do the normal things that young women her age did.  
Neither of them had experienced a proper youth. This peculiar  
nostalgia for things they'd never known was just one more thing they  
had in common, despite their age difference.  
She came up with a cardboard packet of whimsically-shaped  
cookies. "Split the cookies with you?"  
"Only if you'll go to the Prom with me."  
  
* *   
  
Jason Canmore wheeled out of his bedroom, yawning.  
Robyn's door was closed. He thought he'd heard her come in,  
very late, but had no idea if she was alone or just extremely stealthy. He  
privately hoped for the latter. She needed a life beyond being a round-  
the-clock nurse and caregiver.  
He rolled into the kitchen and stopped in puzzlement.  
A clear plastic garment bag was draped over one of the chairs.  
Within was a violet-colored taffeta dress he'd never seen before. A  
shoebox was on the table next to it, containing a pair of dyed satin  
pumps.  
Weird.  
He went to the fridge for juice, and found an orchid corsage on  
top of the egg carton.  
Okay.  
Turning around to get a glass, he saw a stiff black cardboard  
folder, with white letters scrolled across the front. "Your Enchanted  
Evening," it read.  
What the --?  
He picked it up, opened it. There before his very eyes was an  
8x10 glossy of his sister and Preston Vogel, her radiant in the taffeta  
gown with hair done up in fifties' style, him decked out in a tux and a  
purple cummerbund, posed holding hands and smiling into the camera.  
A slip of paper fell out, seesawed in the air, and came to rest  
on his knee. A ballot for the King and Queen, with several pairs of  
names listed. Frankie and Annette, Danny and Sandy, Preston and  
Robyn.  
"This is nuts," Jason muttered.  
"Maybe," Robyn said, coming into the kitchen. "But --" as she  
held up a large ring which could only be made by Josten's "-- we're  
going steady!"  
  
* *   
  
The End. 


End file.
